Roomies
by metameric1
Summary: Another try at hooking Daria and Trent up. This time Daria and Jane are sharing a place and having trouble making ends meet. Somebody gets it in his head to help out. Does he help or make things even worse? And what's that you're eating, missy? Somewhat OOC, post series.
1. Chapter 1

Okaaay... I have an interest in all the various ways that we can get Daria and Trent together. This is my second story along this line, and it starts with a few different assumptions. This takes place after the girls have moved to Boston, and they are roomies. Problem is, things are turning out to be a lot tighter financially for Jane than they had anticipated. In this world, Daria and Trent haven't happened as a couple...yet.

Like some writers, I don't subscribe to the notion that Trent is an oblivious idiot. I don't think that it's unreasonable to think that Jane and Trent would share some things, like intelligence. I see him as a more complex and conflicted character, hiding elements of his persona for reasons of his own.

You'll find minor characters that I've created and inserted to move the story along, and they exist in this as well as in other fics I've been putting together. Likewise there are businesses and other entities that I've pulled out of my butt, as well as technologies and methods of my own invention. Feel free to correct my mistakes and assumptions, of which I am sure are legion. My understanding of music is my own, and real musicians and I have had many entertaining discussions about how wrong I am. In truth, I totally suck at actually playing, but unfortunately it doesn't keep me from trying.

Disclaimer: Daria and associated characters are owned by MTV. This is fan fiction written for fun and entertainment only. No money or other negotiable currency or goods have been exchanged.

Rated T for mild sexual references, situations and alcohol related lapses of judgment. Alcohol as a literary device is cooler than coincidence, I think.

_**Roomies**_

**_Chapter 1- Are You Gonna Eat That?_**

"What the hell is that?" Jane managed, staring at the mess in the sink.

"Ammunition for my pestilence trebuchet," deadpanned Daria.

"Seriously, what is it?" She pulled out her lunch bag and water bottle, setting them down on the far end of the counter.

"I'm not sure, but I'm pretty sure it's not a skunk. I ran it over with the car; I think it's an alpha squirrel."

"Are you cleaning it? As in getting ready to COOK it?"

"Since I killed a living thing, I'm morally obligated to eat it. Kind of an extension of the "if you put it on your plate you have to eat it" school of taking your kids to a buffet restaurant."

"So eating it absolves you of Karmic retribution?"

"Exactly."

"Aren't you afraid of cooties? I mean, _real _cooties?"

"Washed it in 200 proof grain alcohol from the Chemistry lab. That's the stuff that's in vodka, and it wasn't denatured so it's actually drinkable if you add water to it. Seems they use a lot of it for the organic chem classes. Left the interesting innards and thingies in a specimen jar filled with the rinse alcohol for the bio lab."

"Alrighty then. How are you planning to cook it?"

"I was thinking about taking it outside and touching a match to it. Then I'll come inside for a minute to wash my hands, and if I'm lucky the neighbor's dog will come and steal it. Then we can go out for a pizza, having gone through the motions and balancing my Karmic checkbook."

"Good idea, but we're too broke for pizza."

"Yeah, and besides I think there isn't enough alcohol left to burn. I was thinking about a stew or chili but then you caught me."

"What the hell, it's a life experience. We have black beans, and hot sauce in those cafeteria packets." Jane edged closer to the sink. "Looks like chicken anyway. Hey, where's the head?"

"I knew you would want the skull. I buried it in the back yard and put a big rock over it to keep digger dog frustrated. You can dig it up in a few months and then soak it in bleach."

"So much for my surprise Christmas present," Jane smirked.

"Can you hand me that knife? I guess I'll debone what I can."

"Sure," Jane laughed, handing over the knife, a flexible cutting board and a bowl. "I'll see if I can find recipes for varmit chili on the net. And don't throw the bones out before I get a chance to look at them."

"Stuff for an art project? Watch out for the PETA contingent at school."

"Where's the hide?"

"You're sick," Daria smirked. "In that ziplock bag, soaking in alcohol. I wasn't sure what to do with it, but I kind of knew you would ask."

"I think I read somewhere that an animal has enough brains to cure it's own hide, but since you already buried the head I'll have to figure something out."

"I think you'll do better to find something artificial to cure it with. I think the natural methods involve pee as well."

"Internet."

"Back yard or garage, missy."

* * *

"This is really good. Way better than ramen."

"We're so broke, we're dining on road kill," smiled Daria. "How pathetic is that?"

"It's a culinary adventure. Maybe you can write a book on urban survival skills for destitute students."

"Or I could tell my parents about this and horrify them, and they'll send money."

"I bet if I had come home later, you'd feed me this stuff and then tell me what it was afterwards."

"Of course."

"I'd do the same thing to you, but you cook way better than I do." Jane smiled, and then fell silent for a long moment. "Daria, I'm really sorry that I'm not bringing more money in. This is really unfair to you."

"It's not your fault that they had to cut your hours in the printmaking lab. We'll get through it; you'll probably sell another piece in the gallery this month."

"I put an application in with that little used bookstore and coffee place a few blocks away from BFAC. I managed to move my printlab schedule around to clear the lunch times on Tuesday and Thursday, so I can work their peak times then. It's only a few hours, but it'll help. Plus, they'll let me hang some of my work there."

* * *

"I had a talk with Trent this afternoon about my finances," Jane ventured. She watched carefully for Daria's reaction, but none came. She put a white paper bag on the table. "Have a slightly stale scone. There's a couple of Danish in there too, but we should save those for breakfast tomorrow."

"How's he doing?" she asked after a moment. It was a neutral statement; she could have been interested, or she might simply asking to be polite.

"Concerned. He doesn't want me to quit." She set a couple of plates down and pulled out some paper napkins from her bag.

"You'd do that?" Daria asked quietly.

"I could take a break and earn some money."

"It would be hard to get back on track." Daria fidgeted in her seat. She had it easy by comparison; her parents had saved money for her and along with her scholarships, she could afford to carry a bit more of the rent than she was obligated to. Still, money was tight. _Did I make a mistake in talking Jane into this? Did I want to believe that she could do it when I found out that BFAC was near Raft, just so I would have her nearby?_

"How would you feel if Trent stayed with us?" Jane said carefully.

"Here?" Daria froze. _Trent?_

"He's thinking about moving up to Boston, getting a job and helping me out with my expenses. He's considering quitting Mystik Spiral and checking out the music scene up here. Some guy in a music store in Lawndale knows some people here, and could set him up with a guitar teaching gig as well as store sales. Lawndale's market is too small to pay much, and all Trent's getting there are part time hours."

Daria was quiet for awhile. She wasn't sure what she thought of this idea; she had gotten over her crush a long time ago, but _still…_

Daria blinked as a cup of decent coffee was poured for her from Jane's thermos.

Jane put scones out on the plates. "Yeah, I'm not sure either. He could help or make things worse."

"Sounds like he's ready for a change himself." _Just what sort of a change, exactly? Then again, planning and Trent wasn't something that she necessarily linked together in her mind. _"Who knows, it might be good for both of you. It's not like the end of the world if it doesn't work out, but he's got to pay his own way. This household has to at least break even; we can't let it get any tighter."

Daria looked around the place. It was a small cottage, a converted carriage house, behind the larger main house. It had its own narrow driveway, screened by a line of trees, so Trent's heap of a car wouldn't be a problem. But there were only two bedrooms, and the tiny attached garage was unheated and uninsulated.

"Where would he stay?"

"Could you stand it if he camped out in the corner of the living room? I could make a privacy screen for him, and we could set some serious rules about walking around with pants on at all times."

"Awww. I could use the entertainment," Daria smirked.

"Eeew." Jane laughed. "Or maybe he could-"

"Don't even go there, Lane."

"What? I was going to say he could bunk in my room, if I could move my easel out here."

"Sharing a bedroom with your older brother? Sounds creepy to me."

"Privacy screen."

"The living room is fine. We can hang a blanket until you get a screen made. Let's see what happens." _I'm over that stupid crush. Trent is a good friend, but that's all. Jane needs his support now, maybe more than ever. It'll be a little crowded around here, but so what? It's not like she or I bring guys home all the time._

* * *

"Janey," Trent asked quietly, "Are you sure Daria's okay with this? She seems a little uptight. Has she always holed up in her room like this?"

"She's sleeping," Jane yawned. "Tuesday and Thursday are her late days. She came in late last night; she had a study group meeting at the research library."

"Oh, I thought maybe she was out on a date or something." He stirred sugar into his coffee.

"She's gone out with a few guys, but nothing serious yet since that asshole Phillip."

"Huh." He kept stirring his coffee. "Who's Phillip?"

"This grad student she dated for awhile. She seemed to like him well enough, but not as much as he was into her. He wanted her to move in with him, and that was the end of that. She said that he was way too possessive, and it drove her nuts. It was kind of a messy breakup."

"I can see that. She's finally in her element, so there's guys around that can finally appreciate how cool she is." He stood up, finally noticing the cup of coffee. Guzzling it down, he walked the cup over to the sink and washed and rinsed it and the spoon, placing them in the drying rack. "Gotta go, Janey, I've got an interview in about an hour."

He picked up his phone, checked that he had the directions, and pulled on a black sweater.

Jane watched her brother walk to his car, finally noticing the clean, unperforated pair of jeans he had on_. And it's not even 9:00 am…_

* * *

Yawning, Daria stumbled into the kitchen to start the coffee. _Hope we didn't run out of milk,_ she thought to herself. Reaching for the pitcher of filtered water, she flipped open the cover and was about to pour when Trent stopped her.

"Jeez, Trent, you scared the shit out of me!"

"Sorry, Daria, but the coffee's already made. Want some breakfast?"

"Um, sure. Sorry, finished my paper late last night." She turned and opened the fridge, looking for the milk. _Wait, where did this food come from?_

"Your coffee's on the table. I didn't put the milk in yet, I don't know how much you like."

"Thanks, Trent. Did you go shopping or something? How much did you spend?"

"Don't worry about it. Consider it an apology for invading your home." He set a plate down in front of her. "I'm not much of a cook, but the bacon came out fine. The pancakes look okay on the top but the bottoms…you don't have to eat them. Want some toast instead?"

He sat another plate down across the table from her. The bacon was nicely done, but his pancakes were what she would have considered ruined.

"These are just fine, Trent," she smiled, as she poured the milk into her coffee. "You didn't have to make breakfast."

"I don't want to be a freeloader. That's kind of the whole idea, I'm here to help, not be a problem."

"Don't take this the wrong way, Trent, but couldn't you have made more money to support Jane by staying in Lawndale? You didn't have to pay rent there, so any money you made above your own living expenses you could have sent to her."

"I thought about that, but staying there made it hard to get off my ass and put my shoulder to the wheel, so to speak. Too many excuses to slack off; the Spiral, old friends, not having to worry about paying rent. Makes it too easy to lay around in bed. Besides, not much demand there for a guy with only a high school diploma and no other job skills except knowing how to tune a guitar. Jamie over at Dega Street Musicworks helped me out with a job, but he's not really making that much money in that small town."

"I guess I can see that. I never thought you would quit Mystik Spiral. You had plans on making it in music."

"It was an excuse, not a plan. It let me tell myself that it was okay to hang around the house, convince myself that Mystik would make it if we just tried a little harder. But really, it was like trying to make a silk purse out of a sow's ear."

"You guys weren't that bad."

"Maybe you're right," Trent smiled. "It was more like trying to make a sow's ear out of a pig's ass." He began to crunch on a forkful of pancake carbonara.

Daria laughed. "Next time, you can do the bacon and make the batter, but let me cook the pancakes."

Trent smiled thoughtfully. "Thanks for letting me stay, Daria. I really missed the two of you."

For the first time in awhile, she blushed.

He pretended not to notice.

"Am I interrupting?" Jane yawned, pouring herself a cup of coffee. "Bacon?"

"Trent bought us food."

"Things are looking up. Better coffee, and now food not out of a dumpster."

"I thought you said the café let you take the stale stuff from the pastry case."

"Kidding. They do; I swing by the place at closing time and Jill lets me take what I want. She's been saving the mix of beans that collect around the roaster trays and letting me grind and take that home too. It's way better than that grocery store stuff, and it's free."

"Trent," Daria asked, "Where did you get the money for the food? I thought you started tomorrow at Ziggy's Music."

"That reminds me," Trent smiled. He pulled out an envelope and put it on the table. "Some of my music gear that I have on consignment sold, so here's some money towards the rent. About five hundred fifty. There would have been more, but I didn't want to hear about you two eating any more squirrels."


	2. Chapter 2

_**Roomies**_

_**Chapter 2**_

_**Bright and Early**_

He had purposely left the window uncovered, and the shaft of morning sunlight pierced the canopy of the tree in the yard.

Trent Lane, underachiever extraordinaire, musician, and newly self-displaced person gave up and slowly opened his eyes. It was a little disconcerting at first, but the immediate part of Boston around him was slowly becoming familiar and a source of security as he began to feel a sense of place.

For twenty-four years, he had lived in a ramshackle house in suburban Lawndale. He had a whole bedroom to himself the past few years, and had overflowed into the basement, where the rehearsal space for his so-called band had established itself like a barnacle encrustation. Really, except for Janey's room, he pretty much had a lot of space at his disposal. Janey had presence, though, so much so, that when she had left for college, the emptiness became oppressive. it felt as though he was lost in open space, unprotected, unsheltered. Unconstrained, no longer needing to create the illusion of a home for Janey. She had moved on to college now, and had put this part of her life behind her.

What choice did she have? She was only twelve when their parents had begun taking on projects and assignments that kept them on the road more than at home. Trent, having turned 18, became Janey's de facto guardian. He loved his little sister, and he did what he could to normalize the situation and to assure her that things were cool. _No worries, Janey, we got each other._

Of course, she kept in contact. She cared about him, and now it seemed that things had in a way reversed themselves. She was worried about him now, wondering if she would still find him in bed when she called in the evening after her last class. Sometimes... she did.

The wakeup call came about a month ago. Janey was thinking about taking a break from school after the end of the semester. Money was tight for her, and Daria was taking on more than what should have been her share of the living expenses.

Sure, Daria had more resources than Jane, but that determination to take care of herself- something that the two Lane siblings had done together to survive- wouldn't let her accept what she would most certainly see as charity from Daria.

The morning sun was creeping up on his wall, making the thin layer of dust on his few possessions flare up like a glowing algal film. Daria had cleared out a bookcase for him, which stayed in place against the livingroom wall; and together they had found several additional, inexpensive bookcases at a thrift store that became a divider for him. A few carefully placed screws, which would require a bit of filling and painting when they moved out, served to anchor one securely to the wall, and the others were simply screwed in a daisy chain. A single board ran from the top of the last bookcase to the perpendicular wall, keeping the makeshift divider stable and creating something of a doorway for him.

Jane had discovered some discarded panels at BFAC, in the unofficial resource center behind the woodworking shop. One of the classrooms had been recently refurbished, and the pinboards, where students would put their work up for review, had been pulled off the walls. There was enough material there to finish up Trent's dividing wall, and it was sound absorbing to boot.

Daria had insisted on a proper mattress for him. She had found an online deal on a latex foam single, put it on her emergency charge card, and it soon replaced the line of borrowed sofa cushions. He was too tall to sleep on the floor comfortably, and the girls had brought in some cinderblocks and boards that had been left in the garage by a previous tenant.

"Traditional college bookcase, bricks and boards," Daria had smiled. "But the bricks take up too much book space for me." She had rearranged the items and made an elevated platform, topping it with yet another budget staple, a used door. She had made him a bed.

It had almost cleared out half the cash he had pulled together before showing up on their doorstep, but he gladly pulled out his wallet and paid for it all, making sure that he gave Daria the money for his new mattress. He was here to help, not make things worse.

That look of pleasant surprise on her face was worth it.

The space was tight, but he didn't mind. He had brought only two acoustic guitars with him, his trusty Alvarez dreadnought and a smaller vintage Martin OOO-18. It was nice having the two very different sounds available, and he had gotten the old Martin as a straight swap for his backup electric guitar. To keep them out of harm's way, he mounted a pair of guitar hangers on the wall. He had brought only the two guitars, a tuner, a couple of decent microphones, and an audio interface for his laptop. The rest of his music gear was on consignment back at Dega Street Musicworks.

He pulled out the box under his bed that served as a dresser drawer and got dressed before stepping out into the living room. He had been pretty good about not forgetting clothes when wandering to the bathroom in the middle of the night, except last night, when Daria had come in late. He had quickly retreated to his tiny room, and had pulled on some sweats. Why did she wait to explain herself when he reappeared with clothes? "_I went to a movie with some people from my lit study group. Sorry it's so late…"_

Thinking about it, it seemed a little strange. That was almost like she was embarrassed. Worried about what he would think of her.

After brushing his teeth and shaving, he put his stuff away and made sure he hadn't left whiskers in the sink. Moving into the kitchen, he started the coffee and put away the dishes that were in the drying rack.

He smiled as he pulled out the box of pancake mix. There was a recipe on the side of the box for waffles, but there was no waffle iron. Daria loved waffles, he knew. He had taken them out for breakfast after he got his first paycheck, and she had ordered them. An image of her tongue flicking a bit of whipped cream off her fingertip flashed in his head.

He had missed her as much as he had missed Janey.

_Knock it off, moron. She's way too good for you._


	3. Chapter 3

_**Roomies**_

_**Chapter 3**_

_**Hello Again**_

It was nice to come home these days.

True, it was a bit crowded with an extra body around, since the cottage really was too small for three, but she walked with an odd spring in her step as she slung her backpack over one shoulder and pulled her keys from a pocket.

Perhaps it was the feeling of familiar friendships, but more than likely it was the oddly comforting scent of the old Lane household. It was back, and Daria knew that it was the unique olfactory signature of the two Lane siblings. Not that either of them stunk or anything like that, it was just that Trent's arrival pleased her. She was happy to see him again, and he was someone she had always considered a friend.

She felt as though she had grown up in his company, and he had opened up to her. Or perhaps it was simply due to her ability to finally understand just what it was that was unique about him.

Trent understood her.

He liked her for who she was, and not what he wanted to see. He didn't judge her, he didn't try to influence her. She could relax around him, like she could with Jane. He didn't mind when she was being a bitch. He didn't try to guilt her into better behavior when she was just feeling crappy.

She dropped her backpack and turned to close the door.

"So who's your boyfriend?"

She froze. "Phillip?" _Where the hell did he come from? _

"I thought you weren't ready for that kind of commitment." His voice was quiet and petulant, and there was a definite edge to it that made her uneasy.

"He's not my boyfriend, and it's none of your business anyway," she snapped.

"That's bullshit. You like having him around. I've seen the way you look at him."

_He's been stalking me. He's been watching us; Trent and I don't interact outside of the house. _

"I'm not good enough for you? You're such a bitch. Is he a better fuck than me?"

_Damn, he's lost it._ _Can I get away from him? He's a lot taller and faster than I am-_

"Answer me. You seemed to like it when you and I-"

"He's not my boyfriend, Phillip. And neither are you." _Shit. That was stupid._

She caught a glimpse of his fist just before it connected to the side of her head."Fuck you, Bitch!" he snarled. She had managed to move just enough to avoid a direct blow to her face, but his fist had collided with her temple in a glancing blow. She managed to put all her weight into the door, almost closing it and knocking him off balance before he recovered and pushed hard.

_ "DARIA!"_ She heard someone scream her name out before she felt herself flung backward as the door blasted open. She staggered to her feet just as he caught her by the arm and threw her hard against the wall with a sickening crunch. Her glasses shattered as they hit the floor. He was too close and was moving too quickly for her to connect her knee to his crotch. Still standing, she shifted her weight and shot her right leg out, connecting hard with his shin. A sudden pain knifed through her left side as she tried to swing her upper body to deliver more power to the kick. Phillip roared with anger and staggered a bit, but lunged. She managed to grab his shirtsleeve with her right hand, pulling him into his own movement and tripping him as he lost his balance. Hoping to slam his head into the wall, she cursed as he managed to catch himself. Pushing off the wall, he managed to grab her by her blouse. He pulled his right arm back and she instinctively raised her arms to block, but her left arm wouldn't respond. She heard a woman screaming, unsure if it was someone in the room- or herself. She braced herself for another blow, but it never came.

She sensed more people in the room. She couldn't hear anything intelligible over the screams, but sensed that it was Phillip who crashed into the small table as another figure laid into him with a vengeance.

_ "STOP IT, TRENT!"_

_ "HE FUCKING HIT HER, JANEY!"_

_ "YOU'RE GONNA KILL HIM! STOP IT!"_

Mercifully, the yelling stopped. She could make out the tall, skinny figure of Trent slowly stand, after picking up one of the shattered table's legs.

"Get an ambulance for Daria and call the police, Janey. If this asshole moves I'm gonna knock his fucking brains out."

* * *

_ Where's Trent?_

"Take it easy, Amiga. He's okay, the cops are talking to him. He'll be fine. More than I can say for Phillip." Jane rubbed her nose. Daria thought she could see a smear of red appear on her cheek.

_ Are you okay, Jane?_

"You're the one that got beaten up by a goon twice your size, Daria."

_ I can't see crap._

"'Fraid your glasses are history. They hit the ground and then he stepped on them. I grabbed your contacts; do you have a spare pair of glasses?"

_ Top drawer of my dresser, towards the back. Don't let Trent get them, please. Private stuff in there- OW! That fucking hurts!_

"Ms. Morgendorffer, please don't try to move. You have a dislocated shoulder and a broken arm. We've got you in an air splint."

_ Phillip's not in here, is he?_

"Another ambulance. I've never seen Trent so angry before, I thought he was trying to kill him. He pulled Phillip off you and wasn't nice about it. He tried to roll away and Trent jumped on him hard. I heard something break and I think it might have been his knee."

_ Oh God, Trent's gonna be in trouble now- I need to call my mom-_

"Trent's gonna be okay. I have video of what happened- I caught up to Trent walking up to the cottage and was recording when I started to give him a hard time about something that I saw he bought for you, and then I caught sight of Phillip in the doorway. Trent took off for the house as soon as he saw you try to slam the door when he threw a punch at you. It's pretty clear on the video that he started everything and forced his way in. I ran after him and pretty much got a record of what happened. The cops have my phone and are downloading everything on it, so I asked Trent to call your cell when he can."

_ Call my mom and ask her how we should handle this. My wallet-_

"I grabbed your phone and wallet. Hey, we're here. Let's get you inside."

* * *

"Hello, Jane."

"Mrs. M!" Jane cried, throwing her arms around her best friend's mother.

"I got to the airport and on the first flight up I could get. How's Daria?" Helen didn't push her away, but instead returned her hug while the young woman collected herself.

"Resting. They sedated her pretty well when they started working on her. They're not telling us much, but they said she's going to be okay. She's got a mild concussion, some pretty ugly bruising, broken arm, dislocated shoulder. Daria kept asking for Trent and I, so they let us stay."

"How's Trent? The police said that if he hadn't stopped that monster, Daria would have gotten a lot worse of a beating."

"He's okay, he's in the room with her. She won't let go of his hand."

"Jane, are they-"

"No, they're close friends, but not a couple. Trent's staying with us-"

"Daria explained the situation a while back. You're lucky to have a brother like him." Opening the door quietly, the two women walked past an empty bed. As they stepped alongside the partially drawn privacy curtain, they found Trent asleep in a chair he had pulled up to the bed. He was holding Daria's hand, who was looking sleepily at him, the corners of her mouth turned very slightly up. A bouquet of mixed flowers lay across his lap. His right hand was covered in a gauze dressing, and several bruises and scratches were visible on his arm and his face.

Helen suppressed a cry when she looked at her daughter's face. The left side was noticeably swollen, an ugly purple bruise spreading from above her cheekbone into the hairline. Oddly, the huge discoloration only emphasized the smooth ivory complexion she naturally had. She's such a beautiful woman now, thought Helen. Thank God he was there. "Sweetie?"

"Hi mom," Daria said quietly. "You didn't have to come, I'll be okay. I just wanted to talk to you about keeping this guy out of trouble."

"He'll be fine. It's that Phillip character that's going to be in trouble. I'm going to take him apart," Helen said quietly between gritted teeth.

"Dad okay?"

"Quinn's with him. He got himself worked up, of course, and I made sure that he got a mild sedative. They're on another flight, and they should be here in a couple of hours."

"Quinn's coming?"

"She freaked. I wasn't sure that she would be any good keeping an eye on your father, but she pulled herself together. She wanted to come with me, but someone needed to calm your father down."

"You guys didn't need to come, but…" Daria swallowed the lump in her throat. "Thank you. It's good to see you, mom."

* * *

"Daria?" Trent whispered.

"Hmm?" she murmured.

"I need to go to the bathroom."

"Okay. Let's go." Her eyelids fluttered open as light laughter filled the air. "Oh, sorry." She let go of Trent's hand, blushing.

"God, Daria, you're so out of it," giggled Quinn. "What did they give you?"

"Hey, Quinn." She turned her head slowly to her sister's voice. "Hard to stay awake. Thanks for coming." Who's in the room? I can't really see clearly. Mom? Dad? Jane?"

"Jane went to get your spare glasses, Kiddo," said Jake, trying hard to sound upbeat. "But the rest of us are here."

"Sorry I'm not very good company right now," Daria sighed. "The meds are making it kind of hard to stay focused."

"Actually, sis, you're pretty entertaining when you're stoned out of your gourd," laughed Quinn. "Heeyyyy, _handsome_," she said in a semi-monotone to Trent as he took his seat again.

"Oh God," blushed Daria. "Trent, thank you for being there. I don't know what would have happened if you hadn't stepped in."

"You were doing pretty good on your own, you know," Trent smiled. "If he hadn't taken out your left arm when he kicked in the door you would have shoved his head through the wall and then kicked him in the 'nads."

"Jane showed me the video on her phone," Helen said quietly. "Daria was very lucky to have you there."

"The doctor said that they were going to keep you overnight for observation, but that you would most likely be going home tomorrow," Jake smiled. "You're going to be sore, and likely have that headache for a couple of days. The MRI didn't indicate any real neurological damage, and the most discomfort will be from your shoulder for the next four weeks."

"Your assailant got a little taste of the hell he's in for, Daria," Helen smiled grimly. "A ruptured and dislocated knee, three broken ribs, and a broken jaw. Fortunately for Trent the video clearly shows no weapon used, and he only picked up the table leg afterwards to make sure that thug stayed where he was. This Phillip is not going anywhere, and he'll be facing some serious criminal charges as well as a civil suit and a restraining order."

"Just as long as he stays away from us."


	4. Chapter 4

_**Roomies**_

_**Chapter 4**_

_**Aw, Crap**_

Thank God the place was too small for the Morgendorffer Invasion. With Trent's sleeping area taking up a third of the living area, it wasn't possible to seat everyone in the same room. People circulated around Daria's bedroom, settling where they could find space to sit. Jane even found Helen pretending to check messages on her cellphone while sitting on Trent's bed, probably confirming that he was in fact sleeping there and not in Daria's.

If she had found any evidence of a male in Daria's bedroom, it wasn't her brother. As far as Jane could see, he was pretty disciplined in staying out of her personal space. These were close quarters, and he shouldn't be going where he wasn't invited.

Jane was conflicted about Trent staying with them. On the one hand, it meant that Trent could live economically, thus making it possible for him to shore her up financially. At the same time, she felt guilty about his taking on such a task with so little to show for it. True, it seemed to validate his sense of self-worth, and he had grown up rather quickly.

The thing that worried her was the growing _thing_ between Daria and Trent. She was so inexperienced when it came to guys, and this disaster with Phillip had been a major setback for her sense of self. She clearly didn't trust herself around Trent, and it showed in strange ways. Jane just hoped that things wouldn't turn into a trainwreck; Trent really admired her, and in a good way had always loved the sardonic, misanthropic woman.

Fortunately, her family couldn't stay long, and really, Daria was feeling more like her old cranky self by the time the weekend was over. She still needed the Vicodin to take the edge off so she could get to sleep, and the plus side was that she could be pretty entertaining. There was a lot of interesting stuff in that head of hers, and sometimes the painkiller let some of it out.

One thing became pretty clear, though. Daria's old crush on her brother was back with a vengeance, even if she seemed determined to deny it.

After the shock troops had retreated to their hotel, Jane found Trent leaning against Daria's doorway, watching the woman as she slept.

"She's gonna be fine, Trent. Her work this semester has been the usual 4.0 stuff, and she's already finished her last creative writing piece. Even if she slides a little during finals, she's not likely to pull those grades down. Besides, all her instructors know what happened, and you picked up that voice recognition software she needed. She's golden, bro."

"I don't think that's what's stressing her, Janey."

Of course he figured it out.

"Why'd she get with that asshole, anyway?"

"Look, she made a mistake. She thought he was interesting, he's smart, he was good looking and pretty charming. You know she doesn't have a lot of relationship experience."

"I figured that much out. I guess I'm just worried that she's beating herself up for getting with him in the first place. I'm pissed that he was such a jerk to her. It's not her fault that the guy is a nutcase." He fell silent again, his eyes tracing the odd lines of the thin composite mesh cast. It wrapped around the arm break, and sandwiched her shoulder between a pair of form-fitting plates designed to restrain the range of her shoulder. There was an adjustable limit that it possible to set the range of permitted motion. It looked like a bit like body armor.

"She looks like an elfin warrior princess," Trent smiled, a small smile on his face as he watched her slow breathing.

Jane said nothing. After a moment, she smiled and lightly punched her brother on the arm. "Thanks for not being a bull in a china shop. I think that's one of the things she likes about you; you've got a sensitivity to emotional texture."

"Deep," he chuckled. "I'm gonna steal that for a song lyric."


	5. Chapter 5

_**Roomies **_

_**Chapter 5**_

_**Stand By Me**_

"Damn, Trent, that's beautiful," Daria said, standing at the foot of his burrow.

Quickly writing down the change to the refrain, he smiled at her and leaned his acoustic up in the corner. "Thanks. Now I just need to not screw up the lyrics."

"I can help with that," she offered, sitting next to him with her plate of aerosol whipped cream. "Good waffle," she smiled, cutting off a piece after rooting about with her fork. She held it up and waited for him to open his mouth.

He made her waffles every weekend, without fail. He was bringing home the waffle iron when Janey had caught up to him and started teasing him about it. That was the morning when Phillip had shown up and flipped out. He had never mentioned it afterwards; he didn't want to taint a simple pleasure that he enjoyed preparing for her. It was something that he could do that gave her a small comfort, a soothing routine. Every Saturday and Sunday, he would get up early, so that her breakfast would be ready when she awoke.

Two golden waffles, a drizzle of butter and maple syrup, and way too much whipped cream. Sometimes crispy bacon, a small breakfast steak, or some sort of protein, which he would change for variety. And some kind of freshly squeezed fruit juice. For him, making her breakfast had become a ritual that was an affirmation of support and affection.

The damage that had occurred with that assault was deep. She was just beginning to open up socially, after her breakup with Tom. She was far from the social butterfly that her sister was, but she was at least recognizing the part of herself that was so exquisitely female. All of that had been undone; the interaction he had with her had retreated into an almost strained sibling rapport.

He missed the frisson that used to float just below the surface; the possibilities it had suggested to him had slipped away like a Cartesian diver repelled by the slightest pressure. He missed that, but he was nothing if not a patient man. He was there for Janey, and he would be there for Daria. Right now, she needed to heal.

Despite what _he_ wanted, he was careful to not turn this breakfast ritual into bait under a cardboard relationship box, propped up by a handy circumstantial stick.

And he made damn sure that Janey wasn't hiding somewhere, ready to yank that stick away.

_This isn't a game, Janey, so none of that shit._

_ You like her, dummy. And she likes you._

_ She's comfortable around me, she's my friend. Just knock it off. She's your best friend, and you need to stop teasing her._

He was glad that Janey had gone out for her morning run. Daria didn't mean anything by this, but if she saw them sitting together on his bed with Daria feeding Trent a bite of her waffle…

* * *

"Sit in the chair, Daria. You need to watch your posture to keep from stressing your shoulder." He pulled the stand closer so she could see the sheet music easily. She complied, moving the chair alongside her bed and setting her notebook where she could reach it.

Unlike many of his female students, Daria had no problem with filing her left hand fingernails as short as possible. It was the only way to make sure that the fingertips, not the nails, did the fretting; and the calluses that developed on the very tips made quick, accurate fretwork possible.

He watched her left hand carefully, noting that she had corrected her tendency to flatten her ring and pinky fingers against the board. Much cleaner technique, he smiled; the smaller OOO-18 Martin helped a lot. Her elbow was in a more comfortable position. He had suggested the guitar as a way of regaining hand and wrist dexterity after her arm cast was taken off, and was pleased when she not only enjoyed it, she had a natural aptitude for it.

She looked beautiful holding that guitar. Her auburn hair flowed over her shoulder, and spilled across the mahogany top, the colors blending together. She was wearing an old pair of black jeans, and a simple natural linen blouse. The colors reminded him of an old painting that he had seen in one of Janey's art textbooks.

He was a bit surprised when he found that she could read musical notation.

"I was forced into learning the flute when I was in middle school. I hated it, so I always thought I would suck at this sort of thing."

"I remember you had a really cool collection of CDs back in Lawndale."

"I like music, and I'd always find interesting stuff in the thrift stores where I'd get a lot of my books. If I didn't like it, I could trade it in at a used music store."

"Too bad you didn't bring them along."

"On my laptop. Maybe later; Quinn's listening to some of it. I always preferred the sound of the CDs to MP3 files."

"Funny. A lot of old guys tell me they like the sound of old vinyl records better than CDs."

"I liked listening to my parent's records, but that turntable thing was really finicky. They had some older ones that never made it to CD. Some of it was pretty awful, and the album covers were horrible. Still, there were some cool ones. My favorite obscure recording was a soundtrack for a play called _Marat/Sade."_

"Never heard of it," Trent smiled, curiosity piqued.

"A play by Peter Weiss, written in the 1960's: _The Persecution and Assassination of Jean-Paul Marat as Performed by the Inmates of the Asylum of Charenton Under the Direction of the Marquis de Sade. _It was a play within a play- Marat was a French revolutionary, and the play deals with the performance of a play during Napoleonic times, years after the revolution. The story and its execution is heavily tampered with by the interaction of Marat, played by a madman, and the Marquis; revisiting reasons, regrets, and outcomes; much to the annoyance of the institution's Administrator. Of course, the other inmates have their own skewed takes on the story.

"So they take a historical sock and remake it into a sweater with three arms? Sounds like the telling of history by both victor _and_ vanquished."

She gave him a Mona Lisa smile. "But there never is what we could call a singular truth, is there? There's as many realities as there are witnesses, participants, and tellers of the story."

A_s there are interpretations of two people, sitting in this room, talking._

_ For now, they were a teacher and a student; a friend being there when he was needed; and a woman who knew deep inside what she wanted but was for now unable to figure it out. How would this day be remembered?_


	6. Chapter 6

_**Roomies**_

_**Chapter 6**_

_**Kicking and Screaming**_

"Sing it for me," murmured Trent, scanning the open notebook she had slid across his bed.

"I don't sing," protested Daria. "You can figure out the phrasing as you play it." _I can't do this. I need to get away from him for a little while._

"These lines can be taken in two ways, depending on the inflection and how you begin the verse. Like, do I start it on the downbeat or offbeat?"

"Try it both ways. Whatever sounds best to you," she said evenly. She replaced the Martin in its wall hanger and left.

* * *

She pulled her coat tightly around her, the crisp breeze cutting. _Bracing, you could call it, or freaking cold. Whatever._

Why was she pushing him away?

_I trust him absolutely; he'd never knowingly do anything that would hurt me, maybe even if he were angry with me._

_I told him I would help him with song lyrics. So I scribble some shit down and drop it on his bed. Some help. What would be so hard about singing it for him? He's right, it's a pretty subtle lyric; things needed to be drawn out and refined. It needs more work. I want to do this, but it still feels like I have to. I just can't do it right now._

_ Why? I offered to help. At the time, I wanted to give something back to him. Was that just out of a feeling of obligation? _

_ We used to get along just fine, we were close friends. But now he's getting under my skin. Getting close to him seems different now, and when he touches me-when he does, it's not like he means anything by it- its…frightening._

She walked on, eyes down; she should have put another layer on and grabbed gloves. That's all she needed now, to catch a cold or even pneumonia and have Trent worried about her, waiting on her hand and foot. He's done enough already.

She stopped, and looked around. She was across the street from a big chain coffee shop. The place that Jane worked at was a block over, but she needed a little break from the Lanes right now.

She waited, enjoying the warmth of the place. The guy ahead of her wanted a simple cup of coffee. "Regular coffee," he said.

The girl behind the counter smiled as she was told she had to do. "So would that be a Tall, Grande or Venti?"

"Just a plain old cup of coffee, whatever you wanna call it," he said irritably.

_And it's not even very good coffee,_ she smirked. _The hell with it, I'll go visit my best friend. After all, it's not her, it's him._

* * *

"So is Trent driving you nuts?" Jane said simply, putting two cups of coffee in heavy china mugs down. "You know, he could move out."

The coffee in her hand stopped halfway to her lips. "What?"

"The place is kinda small for three," Jane said. "We've managed for, what, six months now? He moved in before the end of last semester. It's almost Thanksgiving, and we haven't killed each other yet. I'd call that a good college try."

"Does he want to find a place of his own? Can he afford it?"

"He's doing good at Ziggy's; he's shift manager now and has as many private guitar students as he wants to take on. Plus, his solo acoustic gig is pulling in a regular crowd, so he's starting to make a little money there. There's always somebody looking for another person to split rent with, so he could find something cheap. It's not like he lives extravagantly."

"Does he _want_ to move out?"

Jane looked at her for a moment before answering.

"He thinks he's wearing out his welcome."

Daria sat quietly, studying her cup of coffee.

"Do you want him to move out? Is it too much for you?"

"No," she said after a long pause. "I like that he's there. I guess I haven't been very forthcoming about that lately. We seem to be sending each other mixed signals. Well, maybe I have. I mean, he's a really good friend, he cares a lot about me, and he's a great guy, but I…" she fell silent.

"That's what he is. What do you _feel_ about him? Be honest with me, Daria. Be honest with me and yourself. If I mean anything to you, please tell me the truth."

No answer.

Jane was beginning to get steamed; the last thing she wanted was to see either of them get hurt. And Daria, falling back into her pig-headed, defensive patterns, was once again busy building walls.

Daria could tell that Jane was loading.

"Are you sleeping with somebody?" There was_ anger _behind that question.

_"What?_" Daria was shocked. "Jane, I am _not _cheating on your brother! How could you even-" _Wait, what did I just say?_

Jane picked up a chocolate biscotti and noticed that her cup was empty. After a moment, she dunked it in Daria's and took a bite. "Shouldn't you let him know that he's in a relationship with you?"

"Shit." Daria could feel her face radiating heat. "Did you do that on purpose?"

"No, I'm not that devious." Jane settled back in her chair, noticing that she was bouncing her leg up and down. She wondered if she really needed a sixth cup of coffee. "You kinda outed yourself on your own."

* * *

"Trent," said a soft voice. He looked up from the inventory list to find Daria sitting on the stool next to him. "I'm sorry about this afternoon. I've been pretty shitty to you lately, and I stepped out to think about why that is. Are you off work at nine-thirty tonight?"

He smiled at her. "I've got a break coming up. Care for a bowl of Vietnamese noodles? Good for this cool weather."

"I'd like that. I'm done for the week, as far as school is concerned. Got my papers in a little early, and there are some things I wanted to talk to you about."

"Let me grab my coat," Trent said, closing the file and logging off. "Anita, I'm on break; don't call unless the store's on fire." The tall brunette in black nodded and went back to her customer after giving Daria a curious glance and a smile.

"It's nice to see you tonight, Daria." He thought about putting his arm around her, but decided against it, keeping his hands in his pockets. "The noodle shop is right around the corner."

He held the door as she entered. One of the waitresses recognized him, and waved him to a small table along the window, well away from the kitchen. "Do you need a menu?" she asked Daria.

"No, thanks," she replied. "Trent, what do you suggest?"

"Two regular bowls of _Pho Tai, _a soda lemonade, and two coffees, no ice, and a little hot water on the side. Daria, the coffee is made with sweetened condensed milk-okay with you?"

"Sure, but could we split a small beer instead of the lemonade?"

"A small Sapporo, and a glass," he confirmed. The waitress left to log their order.

"This sounds serious," Trent murmured.

"It is, but hopefully not bad," she returned. "You've been really great, and I've been conflicted lately. It's about how I find myself treating you, and I want to clarify some things between…us."

The waitress arrived with a tray of coffees, two small cups, two glasses and a bottle of beer. "I will bring hot water after you finish the noodles, okay?"

Trent smiled and nodded. "The coffee takes awhile to drip through," he explained, indicating the silver canisters sitting on the coffee cups. He poured the beer into the two glasses. He was about to take a drink when he noticed Daria holding her glass in front of her.

"To a little bit of courage in life," she said softly, before taking a sip. _I can do this. I have to do this. It's not fair to him. _

She was about to speak when the noodles arrived. "That was fast," she said, a bit flustered. A plate with fresh herbs, lime wedges, bean sprouts and sliced jalapeno peppers appeared. Trent picked up a lime, squeezing it into the bowl, and followed with a sprig of green, the leaves of which he stripped off the stem and added to the broth. A small bunch of sprouts and a dollop of what she guessed wasn't ketchup followed. "If you let it sit for a bit the flavors really develop," he smiled. "That's some kind of sweet fresh basil, I think, and the red sauce is a garlic and hot pepper concoction. Here, taste before you add it to yours." He dipped his spoon into his bowl and held it out for her. She took a little sip; the small intimacy of sharing food with him was always pleasing to her. She hadn't done this in awhile, and she wasn't sure why.

"That _is_ good," she agreed, and added the same ingredients to her bowl. She set her chopsticks down after stirring. She took a breath.

"Trent, please don't move out. Jane told me that you feel like you've overstayed, and I'm sorry if my temperament has given you that impression. I don't mean to be so- I don't know, _dense_ about this sort of thing."

Trent froze in mid-beer sip. Daria looked like she was on the verge of freaking out. Putting the glass down, he carefully reached out and took her hand. She seemed to jump a bit, but then caught herself and looked at their hands. She stroked her thumb over the back of his hand. She looked up at him. "You know you've always been really important to me, and how you see me matters to me?"

He nodded, unsure where this was going. She curled her fingers around his.

"You're probably the only guy that I worry about embarrassing myself in front of, and I do it all the time. You're the one guy that I don't want to drive off by being stupid, or careless, or bitchy to and I do THAT way too often. Look, the food's getting cold, and we've got to get you back to work. Don't move out, Trent, stay with me-I mean us. Hey, this is really good." She began to eat, hoping he wouldn't notice her blush_. Oh God, he must think I'm an idiot._

He followed her lead and started on his noodles. Why was she so nervous? It sounded almost like she was admitting that she felt something for him. Was she-? He stopped eating. "Daria, I was kind of feeling that I was making you uncomfortable being there in your place."

She put her spoon down, and took another swallow of beer. "You're not making me uncomfortable, not exactly. But you _are_ having an effect on me."

"Am I feeding you too many waffles?"

"You need to help me burn some of those waffle calories off, or I'm gonna get fat." She was blushing furiously, but there was a little smile there.

_Nine-thirty was so far away._


	7. Chapter 7

_**Roomies**_

_**Chapter 7**_

_**Clockwatchers**_

"Hey Boss, you okay?" Anita smirked as she waved her hand in front of Trent's face. "Your lady friend is pretty cute. She's that genius writer chick you live with, right?"

"Oh, sorry." Was he staring off into space? "Yeah, that's Daria, my sister's best friend."

"Girlfriend?"

"She's kinda out of my league, but I can dream, right?" Trent smiled.

"God, guys can be so stupid. She's totally into you, moron."

He sighed, shaking his head. "Right, the girl's in her sophomore year at Raft and fighting off good looking, brainy grad students. Why would she be interested in me?" He went back to scanning the inventory. _What's with this spike in interest in acoustic guitars? We're almost out of the Taylor entry level models. Gotta get the guys in back to do some decent setups on some of the beginner models._

"Why not? You're a nice guy, and I can tell you she shot me a _look_ when you guys split for dinner."

"Maybe you reminded her of somebody she didn't like."

Anita laughed. "Old rocker girlfriend of yours, I bet." She called out to one of the younger sales guys on the way to the sales floor. "Ricky, did you guys sort out that intonation problem on the new batch of acoustic/electrics?"

"Yeah, Trent was right, the factory put plain steel G strings on some of them instead of wound. Most of them had the nuts cut kinda high as well, so we restrung the ones that needed it and filed the nuts on all the floor models. I'll work on the stock when it gets slow."

"Make sure you green tag the ones that are ready to hand to customers," Trent reminded him. "And check the preamps first before you put any time in. We've got at least two that are bad. And use decent strings, a full set. Keep notes with serial numbers; I'll do a chargeback to the distributor for labor and new strings." _  
_

"Anyway, I did you a favor," Anita smiled. "I told her as she was leaving that you were behaving and that we're all getting tired of you telling us how cool she is all the time."

"What?"

"Well, you are. And you do." Anita laughed.

Trent smiled as he glanced at the time.

* * *

"Daria, what the hell is wrong with you?" Jane asked, toweling off her hair. "You're making me nervous with that pacing."

"I went out for a fast dinner with Trent, and we started to talk, but we didn't get very far, and I sounded like an idiot."

"Well, it's a start."

"He's going to be home at ten," Daria fretted, looking at the clock. "Oh God."

"Stop worrying about it." Jane walked into the kitchen and looked in the refrigerator. She extracted a couple of bottles and opened them.

She handed a beer to Daria. "Sit down. Just what are you so worked up about?"

"I think I kind of sounded like a _horny_ idiot. What's he going to think about that?"

"That you like him a _lot?" _Jane smiled. _Poor girl can be tighter than a duck's butt sometimes._

"I guess I'm worried about what he thinks of me. I must have said that at least twice to him tonight. He has expectations, preconceptions about who and what I am."

"And you're afraid he'll be disappointed. Well, let's see. He sees you as…"

"Smart, sensitive, honest, sarcastic, sardonic, and funny. Also principled, talented, and creative."

"All true. What else?"

"He thinks I'm...attractive," Daria mumbled.

"My brother thinks you're _hot_. Also true."

"He thinks I can sing, and have musical abilities."

"I've heard you play. True. Not sure about the singing part, but he's got a good ear for that kind of thing, so probably true. You're sounding like a saint. What else?"

"I fear intimacy, don't make friends easily, can't take a compliment, don't like physical contact unless I initiate it, emotionally isolate myself, have trust issues, have body image issues, I can be bitchy, lazy, apathetic, and I ate a squirrel."

"Also true, to a point. He knows all that shit about you and likes you anyway. You forgot to mention that you value your friends and will go to extremes to protect the people you care about. And the squirrel thing doesn't count because you ran over it by accident. Besides, you make a mean squirrel chili."

"I was told," Daria added quietly, "that I'm a lousy lay."

"By a guy who proved he was a total asshole," Jane spat, "and was obsessed with you. Sour _and_ bitter grapes."

"I don't want to disappoint Trent. I think that's why I've been kinda distant, so I don't have the chance to fuck things up."

"You both drive me nuts. You want this so bad that you're afraid to try, because it might turn out to be not what you've been imagining it to be. There's only one way to find out, right? Both of you have been dancing around this. God, Daria, you've lived with the guy for six months. One of you has to DO something already. I nominate_ you."_

"Why me?"

"Because you're smarter, and Trent's been trying in his own not-trying way to get you to see that he's been trying." Jane paused. "Wait, I'm confused."


	8. Chapter 8

_**Roomies**_

_**Chapter 8**_

_**Sooo….**_

"Hey, Daria, Janie," Trent smiled, hanging up his overcoat. "You know, you guys are gonna get me in trouble. Any more beer left?"

"You don't buy these for us, we steal them from you. Big difference," Jane grinned. "I learned that from the lawyer's daughter."

"I made that up," said Daria, "but it's not an unreasonable argument in his defense."

"Gotta go listen to music on headphones, really loud, and then fall asleep in my room with the door closed. Laters!" Jane rinsed out her bottle and put it in the recycling bin on the way out of the kitchen.

"Subtle," mumbled Daria, handing Trent a beer from the fridge.

"You seem nervous," Trent said after a moment.

"So do you. I could have made you a cup of hot tea to warm up."

"Yeah, that would have been the smarter thing to do. But then, if I was all that smart," he reflected slowly, "I would have asked you out years ago." He held his breath, and waited for her response.

"That might not have worked out back then," Daria said, throat suddenly tight. "I had things to learn first." She swallowed the last of her beer. "Jane got me to admit something this afternoon, before I showed up at Ziggy's. It wasn't something that I was keeping from anyone except myself." She rolled her empty bottle in her hands. Strangely for her, it hadn't seemed to have as much of an effect on her nerves as she would have liked, but it did seem to help. Taking a breath, she pressed on.

"I guess I need to clarify things for myself, and you. I mean, I've always found you attractive, but… I guess I never knew what to do about it. You've changed so much from the guy I had a crush on years ago, and I guess in some ways I have too. Having you around all the time- it became so comforting, like a balm.

"But I was still keeping you at a distance, even if small. Maybe I'm afraid that letting myself get close to you is somehow going to hurt Jane, if it doesn't work out; or if I would be in a way stealing you from her. I hurt her with Tom, and I don't think our friendship could survive something like that again."

Daria leaned back into the counter, arms crossed. She was tense, feet planted to the floor.

"Jane made me realize that despite all these fears I've already kind of fallen into a relationship with you. It's gone _past_ friendship, and the thought of you moving out was like a slap upside the head. It would be like a big void appearing in the world around me. I'm really sorry for not saying anything earlier. I mean, like I said I'm just kinda _dense_ about this sort of thing. I know that the human sex pheromones are aerosols, and that you and I have been in close quarters for so long, _something_ was going to happen. You moving in- the idea made me worry about everything that could go wrong, but deep down I wanted it. I mean, I know you like me, and that you've never said anything, but you did so many little things that even I could-" she paused.

She dropped her arms back against the counter, composing herself. "You're not a shy kind of guy; I mean, you can get up on a stage and perform, and I've never seen you particularly uncomfortable around women. But you're still not one to put _everything _out in the open." She took a breath, closing her eyes for a moment. "Do you- I mean-"

She let out an explosive sigh, and crossed her arms again, her gaze falling to the floor.

"I haven't said anything," Trent said carefully, "Because I thought that I should just do stuff, do what felt right, and you would respond, one way or another. And I could tell that you've held back, like you were keeping us from getting too close. I l_ike _being with you, and I didn't want to mess that up by pushing past what you were comfortable with."

He saw her relax just a bit; a hand appeared, the fingertips stroking an elbow. He had always thought her hands were exquisite; he loved watching them move when she played guitar. Unadorned, and beautiful. Like her. He looked up at that thick auburn hair, framing her smooth ivory complexion.

After a moment, he laughed softly, drawing her eyes up to meet his.

"You know, when I first met you, it took me awhile to figure out that your natural color wasn't bright pink. I thought, hey, Janey's friend is really cute, but kinda quiet."

"God, if you had told me that back then, I would have been _gone." _A tiny smile flashed involuntarily across her face.

"Eventually I figured out that you had quite the vocabulary and the intellect to match, and that you weren't always pink. That's when I realized that you weren't cute, you were the _definition_ of beautiful. And you were funny as hell."

"And you never said anything," she said with a blush.

"At first it was because I thought I was too old for you. And I was. I'm not that stupid. But then, as I realized how exceptional you were, I started thinking that there was no way… I mean, you were so much smarter than I was, so full of potential. And there was the fact that Janey _needed _you. Same deal, Daria, I didn't want to mess with you and Janey. You needed each other."

"Ah. So it's Jane's fault," she said with a smirk. "Figures. Let's go beat her up."

He laughed quietly. "You couldn't steal me from her, you know. She's part of me. We're kind of a package deal, the family thing." He paused, and smiled. "The thing I couldn't figure out is why you had a crush on me in the first place that lasted as long as it did. There didn't seem to be a reason behind it, so it must have been just a surface thing, right?"

"I was a fifteen year old girl who thought you were a total hottie. It was like-hey, maybe not all guys are totally beyond redemption. But you were the _ubercool_ one, out of reach. That was the first impression. Later, I realized that there was a lot more there behind that exterior; it was as much about what you left unsaid as what you did say. And it was the realization that I owed my best friend, in a way, to you. So, no. It became deeper."

"I used to call you _the coolest high schooler I know_. I didn't mean it as a pat on the head. I meant that as a reminder to both of us. I'm sure it must have gotten under your skin a bit, and I'm sorry. You really were the coolest person I knew then, and you still are." The corners of his mouth turned up in a slight, nervous smile. She had relaxed a bit more, her hands held at her waist, the fingers intertwined. They regarded each other, slightly awkwardly, like two middle schoolers at their first dance.

Trent took a drink from the bottle in his hand, and offered it to Daria. "One more small sip." She hesitated, and then put the bottle to her lips. He took it and set it down on the counter.

"That's so you don't get grossed out by beer breath, he smiled, putting his fingertips on her cheek, noticing the moisture on her small, full lips. Sliding his fingertips to her chin,he felt her shiver slightly as he lifted her face gently and kissed her softly. She reached up with her right hand and pulled him into it, the tip of her tongue sliding over his lips. The kiss lost its aching shyness, and flashed into incandescence.

She felt him wrap his arms around her, enveloping her. She felt a rising heat as his scent, so familiar, made her pull him tighter. It was his alone, a heady trace of sandalwood, patchouli, and that odd, distinctive scent of old spruce and lacquer that his acoustic guitars had. That, and the irresistible natural scent of a male.

An aroused male, inhaling the perfume of a willing female.

"Must be the alcohol," whispered a breathless woman, coming up for air.

"Good excuse, but it's non-alcoholic beer," smiled Trent.

"What's the point of _that?"_ laughed Daria.

"Grabbed it by mistake; I was running late. I decided to buy it anyway since I noticed that you guys were pinching the beer. Figured you both might lose interest."

"So I have no excuse for wanting to drag you into my bed and tear off your clothes with my teeth?" She put her head on his shoulder. "Damn. Forget it, then."

"Placebo effect?"

"Oh. Okay."

* * *

"I've created a monster," Jane muttered to herself. Knocking loudly on the bathroom door, she shouted over the sound of the shower. "I gotta go, you guys!"

"Sorry, Jane," Daria's voice came through the door. The shower cut off, and the sound of two people speaking softly and laughing filtered out. "Turn around, okay? I'll clean it up, promise!"

"You got five seconds and then I have to break the door down. Five, four-"

The door burst open, releasing a cloud of steam and two damp bodies streaking across the hall, followed by the slamming of Daria's bedroom door.

* * *

"We gotta work out the logistics of this, folks, Jane smirked as she poured the coffee. "That didn't sound _anything_ like a lousy lay," she whispered to a now red-faced woman.

"Um… yeah, I guess…" she admitted, a rare, canary-eating grin on her face.

Trent laughed, having heard.

"Let me have the bathroom before my run, and t_hen_ you guys can mess it up. Just make sure you leave me some hot water. If the weather holds, I'm running. One point five hours of privacy, me out of the house. Do me a favor and keep the warmup in your room, okay? And no streaking in the common areas, and stay off the table. I eat there too."

* * *

"So what are your plans for the Thanksgiving break?" Daria asked Jane and Trent over the breakfast table.

"Nothing planned, although I'm supposed to take time off outside of the Christmas rush; we need all hands for that. I guess I should take time now," Trent mused.

"I'm actually caught up on my printmaking. Helps to run the lab," Jane grinned. "Got an Art History paper due, so I was gonna work on that."

"My parents invited you guys over for thanksgiving. I guess I should go at any rate, so I have the option to bail at Christmas. I can't leave you unsupervised," she nudged Trent.

Jane and Trent looked at each other and shrugged. "Free food is free food, and Trent could catch up with his old friends," agreed Jane. "We can check out the damage at the old Casa Lane. Summer and her kids are going to be over with her friends in Baltimore for Thanksgiving."

"Daria," Trent smiled, "Wanna try out some of the material we wrote on a hometown crowd?"

"Aww, do we _have _to?" Daria mock whined.

"You'll be great. Our stuff has never been done as a duo, and I'm really interested in how it goes over," Trent said calmly. "Besides, McGrundy's Pub is pretty laid back. _Paper Cup Friday_ usually has a tolerant audience, since most of the time the talent's pretty dismal. They can only throw the paper cups, and usually nobody wants to waste the beer."

Daria studied his face. "You really want to do this, don't you?"

"Sounds like a fair trade, if Daria wants backup, right?" Jane laughed. "Besides, she could introduce her _boyfriend_ to mom and dad."

"Sorry to spoil your fun, but they already know," Daria smiled softly, reaching for his hand. "They didn't seemed to be surprised, and they like Trent."

"Daria," Jane laughed, "the way you were babbling when you were in the hospital the only person who didn't see this coming was _you_." She kicked her brother under the table. "And _you_. Told you so."


	9. Chapter 9

_**Roomies **_

_**Chapter 9**_

_**Thanksgiving**_

Jake gazed longingly at the kitchen as he poured himself a second martini and another glass of wine for Helen. Still, they both smiled as the sounds of the Thanksgiving meal being prepared and muted kitchen conversation spilled into the living room.

The Boston crew had appeared on their doorstep laden with groceries and a turkey, having given notice two days before that the takeout orders that Helen traditionally made were to be cancelled; except for desserts.

"This is Thanksgiving," Daria had said. "You've supported me for years, so this is just a small thank you. Parental units please stay out of the kitchen; my crew requires utmost concentration if we are to survive this gastronomic experiment."

"Daria, when did you learn to cook?" Quinn asked, rinsing out bowls and pans as she and Jane loaded the dishwasher. The turkey roasting in the oven smelled fabulous.

Trent opened the oven, meat thermometer in hand. After a moment, he closed the door and turned off the oven.

"Letting it coast. It'll still cook but it'll start to cool off a bit," he explained.

"I guess when I figured out that pizza was expensive and not exactly suitable as a steady diet," she smiled. "I just experimented, but left out the extreme spices," she smirked, indicating their father with a tilt of her head. She drained a pot of boiled potatoes and laid them out on a cutting board for peeling.

"Daria and Trent do the cooking," Jane grinned. "It's very cute and domestic."

"Wasabi powder," Daria said, _sotto voce_, to Trent.

"Hey, there's no room in that kitchen," protested Jane.

"And no garbage disposal," smiled Trent.

"I'm talking to it," Jane returned. "C'mon, Quinn, let's do the salad. I can _so_ make this food you speak of."

"Quinn," Daria asked, "What happened to Pepperhill?"

"I thought I wanted to go there, but then I realized that it would be too much like an extension of high school. Stacy and Sandi wound up going there, and it really sounds like a party school. They barely got in, and I'll be surprised if they make it through their freshman year. I don't know, it just felt _wrong_ for me. My grades were better than theirs, but still weren't all that great except for last year; so I thought I'd just go to Lawndale State, save mom and dad some money and bring up my GPA. I can try for a better school later."

"Good idea; I know you can do it. Do you know what you want to major in yet?"

Quinn hesitated before answering. "Don't laugh. I'm thinking of a Pre-Law program."

"Why do you think I'd laugh? I _know_ you can do it, sis." Daria looked straight into Quinn's eyes. "I used to think you _acted_ like an airhead. I knew you weren't stupid, you just had to decide to apply yourself. You'll do fine."

Quinn stood there, mouth open. After a moment, she composed herself. "Thanks, sis," she said. "That means a lot to me."

Helen, following the conversation from the sofa, smiled quietly, and reached over to take Jake's hand.

* * *

"Thank you, kids, that was _excellent," _said Jake, leaning back in his chair. "Anyone have room for some dessert? Not as good as you'd have done, I know, but it _is_ the best takeout apple and pumpkin pie in town."

"No thanks," Daria said quietly as Quinn offered her the bowl of whipped cream for her pie. "That stuff makes me horny."

Trent nearly choked on his forkful.

Jane smiled, and whispered, "Uncurl those toes, Monkey Girl."

"Thank you, Dr. Spielvogel," muttered Daria.

Helen laughed and reached for the bowl, spooning a generous dollop onto Daria's dessert as the two women shared a quiet smile.

_Thanks, mom._

_ Be happy, Daria._

* * *

"Are you sure, Quinn?" Helen whispered doubtfully. "I can't believe your sister would do something like this." She looked around at the McGrundy's Pub Open Mic crowd.

"Jane said that she and Trent have been writing songs together. He taught her to play after she had that cast taken off. She's really nervous, so don't let her know we're here, okay, _Dad_? You too, Stacey."

"Got it, Princess. Hey, where's Jane-O?"

"Over with those guys, Trent's old bandmates. She's making sure that those goofs don't spook her. She's also got Daria's glasses; she won't be able to see anyone out here in the audience, so maybe that'll help her nerves."

"Hey, Quinn," Stacey whispered. "Isn't that Mack and Jodie over there? And that Goth chick Andrea?"

"Oh, _shit._ There's Upchuck, too. Stacey, can you-"

"Got it, I'll tell them to cool it. Your poor sister!" She slipped off as Quinn facepalmed.

"Give Daria some credit, Quinn," Helen smiled softly. "She's grown a lot. You might be more nervous than she is."

Quinn followed her mother's eyes and looked up to the little stage.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," announced the host, "Tonight we have a duo visiting their hometown from Boston." He turned to the pair walking onstage, pausing when he saw Trent's hand held in the air and bringing a finger to his lips.

_Cool it, Dude, stage fright._

The host nodded, and refrained from elaboration. He began to lead the audience in a polite round of applause.

_Amateurs_, he smiled.

Trent stepped forward, dressed in black jeans and an old Mystik Spiral T-shirt. He carried his trusty Alvarez dreadnought, sparkling with a fresh polish. He smiled as four thumbs silently shot into the air, not too far from the stage. The pub audience chatted lightly over drinks. He turned, and took the hand of a lovely, petite brunette in jeans and an oversized Raft sweatshirt. The small Martin guitar she carried seemed almost too big for her hands. They settled onto stools as a bored house tech set about adjusting the instrument and vocal mics. She rested her guitar on her right leg, turning her head to move her long auburn hair out of her bright brown eyes.

_Oh my God, sis, you look great! _Glancing over to where Daria's old classmates were hanging out, she smiled as she noted the open mouths.

"Hey, folks, it's kinda strange being back in Lawndale," came the familiar calm tones over the house PA. "I'm Trent Lane; some of you might remember me from back when I was with Mystik Spiral, like a lifetime ago. I promised mystery woman here that I'd introduce her only if we don't suck tonight, so you'll have to wait. I'll just say that she's kind of been a major positive influence on my music, and I'm sure you'll see what I mean."

Daria flashed a shy smile at the audience, and turned to her partner, counting out a tempo. She began a bright, crisply rendered intro, joined by the cadence of his dreadnought laying a rich chord progression beneath her melodic groove. Looking first at her companion, she closed her eyes for a moment, and then looked out into the audience, singing in a warm, throaty contralto. She sang the refrain and then the first verse by herself, a bit nervously, but with passion and heart. The conversations began to drop away as patrons turned to the stage, wondering who this new talent was.

Trent joined her on the second refrain, and he took the second verse on his own. By the time they joined on the third verse and the last refrain, the crowd was theirs, and on their feet.

Not a single paper cup landed on the stage during their set. Three songs later, the couple stood for an enthusiastic ovation. "Thanks, folks, I'd like to introduce my partner and muse, Daria Morgendorffer."

_Is there anything my sister can't do if she sets her mind to it_? Quinn beamed as she hugged Daria. "Sis, that was fantastic!" Turning to Trent, she pulled a semi-monotone and purred in a mock stoned voice, "Heeyyy, handsome, not bad at aaalll."

"Jeez, you two _are_ related," Jane laughed, handing Daria her glasses. "You rock, Amiga!" She waited as the glasses went on, and for the reaction when Daria realized who had come to witness her debut.

"Oh God," came the response, accompanied by the deepest blush Jane had ever seen on her friend's face. "Hi mom, dad, I guess we didn't suck."

Daria faced her parents, both of them with goofy grins. "Oh hell," she muttered, handing her guitar to Trent and opening her arms for a group hug.

"Cat's out, looks like," Trent said, putting her guitar into its case.

"I'll say," said Jodie, shaking her head. "The Stoic here has found another creative release."

"And it doesn't involve a high vantage point and a telescopic sight," laughed Jane.

_Author's __Notes: Yes, I like Thanksgiving as an event useful to move the story forward. Since the holidays are important to students in college, makes sense to me._

_And for those that want to see the lyrics that Daria and Trent have written, use your imagination. It's better than the rubbish I would try to pass off as their work. Think Ani DiFranco, Fiona Apple..._

_-M1_


	10. Chapter 10

_**Roomies**_

_**Chapter 10**_

_**Change Afoot**_

"Damn, there is _nothing _quite as sexy as a hot girl dressed in leather that knows what to do with an oxyacetylene torch," Matt, the sculpture lab TA laughed, admiring the ease with which Jane shut down the big Oxyweld 17 cutting torch.

"Need more oxygen, funny man," she sighed. "We're down to the last bottle." She checked the valves again, hanging the hot torch on the hook. She pulled off her faceshield and goggles, and began unbuckling her protective leathers. She felt him undoing the apron from the rear. "Thanks. I'm beyond tired." She draped the damp leather gear over a bar welded to the metal wall and plopped down onto a chair across from Matt.

"Gas is being delivered in the morning, Jane. At least you're getting your money's worth out of your lab fee. Everyone else uses the plasma cutters, you know; they're afraid of that torch. That thing can slice through three inches of steel easily."

"I like the rougher, wicked torch cut, especially on the heavy plate," she explained. "Hey, do we have a working pneumatic rivet gun? With a big tip?"

"Yeah, and you'll be needing a bucking bar and an assistant. Sure, I'll give you a hand. There's at least a couple thousand old style boiler rivets in that barrel, and a gas fired rivet forge next to it. I think that stuff was donated over twenty years ago."

"Got anything planned for tomorrow night?"

"I think I'm helping this crazy artist chick with a taste for late nineteenth-century technology."

She smiled at that. "Thanks. Let me clean this up, and I'll be on my way."

"Leave it. You'll be in first thing in the morning, right? Besides, there's nobody here to trip over it." He stood and stretched, and walked over to the shop stereo and shut it off.

Jane looked around, finally noticing that she was alone with Matt. "Oh shit, I didn't realize how late it was. God, I'm sorry. You should have said something. I didn't mean to piss away your Friday night."

"No problem. I don't have anywhere I need to be; it's not like I have a life these days. Besides, you're gonna be cutting things close. The lab closes down for the Christmas break."

"My brother and his girlfriend have a gig at the Blue Moon tonight. Let me buy you one of their giant burgers and a beer, at least."

"You know, we probably both kinda stink," Matt smiled.

"Hell, we can just wipe down with wet paper towels. Besides, I've got some clean shirts in my locker, and one is big enough to fit you. If they make us sit on the patio, it's at least nice out tonight."

"You're on, Jane," Matt grinned. He held up the black t-shirt she had thrown him. "Who's _Mystik Spiral?_ Sounds like a Doors cover band that plays brew pubs."

Twenty minutes later, they met at the bar and grill. Jane locked the car that she and Daria shared, and watched as Matt chained his helmet to the front fork and wheel of his Ducati. "Nice ride," she smiled. _Damn, this guy cleans up nicely._

"Saves space at the sculpture lab, and nobody asks me to haul anything for them," he grinned.

"Isn't it a kind of expensive bike?" They made their way to the entrance.

"Not really, just kind of uncommon. It was my dad's. I love the sound of that Ducati clutch; nothing else sounds like it. It reminds me of him coming home," he said, the tone suggesting that it wasn't a topic he cared to discuss.

"Sorry," Jane said softly. _Crap._

"Hey, it's okay," he said, his sad smile brightening. "Life goes on. Right now, it's taken a little turn for the better; tonight I get to talk to a pretty girl." He looked at the line to get in. "Might not be eating here, though, it's really packed tonight."

"Follow my lead," Jane grinned, taking him by the hand and pulling him along to the front of the line. "We're with the band. Hey, Nate."

"Jane! Damn, this your date? Lucky guy. Go on in, but you might be sitting on the stage wing tonight."

"It's cool, she's Trent's sister," Nate explained to the grumbling cue.

"You might have to pretend to be a roadie later," she smirked, letting go of his hand.

"I like _date _better, if it's okay with you," he smiled.

Jane turned and paused for a moment. "Sure, you'll do," she laughed. "Just behave yourself and don't hit on the girl, that's my brother's girlfriend and my best friend."

"No problem," he replied.

Just like Nate said, the house was full and they decided to sit on the stage apron. Jane was comfortable with the arrangement, and sat cross legged with their burgers, garlic fries and drinks on one of the road cases. It was actually a really good seat, since they were only a few feet away from Daria and Trent.

_Matt's a really good sport about this, mused Jane. And he's cute._

Fortunately, the main PA speakers were aimed over their heads, and the performer's monitor speakers were not too close by their improvised table. The sound levels were quite comfortable._ Daria's getting into this_, Jane marveled, watching raptly as her normally quiet friend threw her head back and belted out one of her typically startling and compelling lyrics. Trent's eyes were closed as he laid a solid 4/4 foundation for her melodic arpeggio_. God, they were into it deep. _

She glanced over to see if Matt was enjoying himself; his head was nodding to the beat and his fingertips tapping along on the side of the bottle in his hand. He was laying on his side, propped up on one elbow, relaxed and at ease. Not much chance for conversation in this sound level, but they shared the evening's vibe and went with it. He caught her eye, returning her gaze with an honest smile.

_ Don't get your hopes up, girl. You know what these damn sculptors are like, they think they're doing you a favor letting a girl into their club. _

_ But God, this one's cool. _

And he hadn't played expert to her; he had been there when she actually needed help and laid off when she was into her thing. He'd let her go on past closing tonight; he knew the project deadline and seemed to understand her pacing. She'd have to spend all morning grinding and cleaning things up, and then drilling all those damn holes before she could rivet. The instructor suggested just welding the structure and brazing on cosmetic rivet heads over the plug welds, but she knew what she wanted.

_ Damn, he's cute._

* * *

_Gahhh! What time is it? _

Stumbling to the bathroom, she managed to find what she hoped was her toothbrush and set to work. As she stepped into the shower, she realized that she had taken one late the night before. _Hell._

"Morning, Jane," came Daria's droll greeting. "Slept well, I hope?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Jane narrowed her eyes. "I didn't sneak him into my room."

"Sensitive, aren't we?" Daria gave her a little smile as she poured her a cup of strong coffee.

"Seems like a nice guy," Trent said, setting plates in front of the two women.

"Mmmfff." Jane managed to get half the coffee down before deciding to clear things up. "He stayed late to let me finish up at the lab, so I bought him a burger. Big deal."

"He's into you, Janey. I can tell."

"Relationship advice from you? Pass."

"For later," Daria deadpanned, handing her a banana.

"Fucking hilarious, Amiga," Jane laughed, flipping her off as she ran out the door.

* * *

_This is no place to be if you give a shit about how you look to a guy. On the other hand, he doesn't seem to have a problem with it._ She looked over her shoulder and gave the hose a jerk, allowing her to swing the heavy tool into position. She set it down on a grimy stool as she picked up the tongs. "Ready"? she shouted over the din of the compressor. He nodded, hefting the bucking bar behind the rear steel plate. She reached with the tongs, grabbing firmly onto a red hot rivet. She pushed it into place, tapping it home with the end of the tongs. She dropped the hot tool into the forge bucket, and quickly picked up the pneumatic riveter, pushing the nose against the glowing steel. She admired the way his shoulders flexed as he leaned into the bucking bar, and she pulled the trigger. As the tool set hard, she reached up and flexed the taper pin aligning the holes in the plate a foot away. Confident that the holes were still aligned, she pointed up at the hole above and repeated the process with a fresh rivet.

She pulled the pin and methodically jammed it into the chain of holes, making sure that the hot rivets could be pushed in. Satisfied, she confirmed that Matt was still paying attention, and started loading and setting hot steel.

"Damn impressive, Jane," Matt grinned, pulling off his gloves and handing her a bottle of cold water. "Where the hell did you learn how to do that?"

She pulled off her face shield, and dropped onto the bench next to him. "Internet," she said, "and just common sense. I mean, if you know what the tools do, and we know how steel acts when it's hot; it's pretty self-explanatory. And it's not like this thing is cost engineered, it's gotta have a huge structural safety margin. I mean, look at it."

He studied the ten foot tall artifact in front of him. Masterfully conceived, meticulously constructed. _Defiance_, she called it.

_I will not yield, _it said. That was the meaning that the artist had encoded into the form and attitude of the metal.

Maybe it wasn't her intention, but it was a self-portrait in steel plate and beam.

He looked again at this remarkable woman. An _undergraduate;_ ignoring the half-baked work around her, reveling in the resources available to her. A gantry crane. Scrap steel, pallets of it. Forklift. Heavy industrial metalworking tools. None of the old hot glue gun and masking tape shit, she was in her element, and she was _fearless._

"Same deal, Matt."

"You don't have to, you know. I liked working with you. It's actually a real pleasure watching how you figure things out on the fly."

"I appreciate you sticking this out with me. I know you don't have to."

"I'd ask if I could call this a date, but I don't want you to feel that you have to go along with it," he said casually.

There was something about his posture and distracted gaze, though, that made it clear to Jane that he was serious.

The silence went on a beat longer than it should as she made up her mind.

"Sure, but I'm still paying for dinner. I brought you another shirt, just in case."

"I washed the shirt you loaned me," he said, opening his locker and pulling it out, on a hanger.

"You _ironed _it?

"Well, I didn't want you to think I was a slob, but in the interest of full disclosure, I really am. Not sure about that starch job, though, it might have been a bad idea."

"Wait, you care about what I think? What kind of sculptor are you?"

"Would you prefer a misogynistic jerk?" He laughed joylessly. "We're not all the same, you know."

"Hey," Jane said quietly after a moment. "I was kidding. I didn't intend to hit any nerves. Look, maybe-" _Hell. Why am I apologizing? I didn't do anything._

* * *

"Jane? You're home early. I thought you were going to take Matt out somewhere," Daria said, looking up from her laptop.

"Change of plans," Jane mumbled, dropping her backpack in the kitchen, and opening the refrigerator.

"There's meatloaf in that covered dish, and some stir-fry chicken with veggies in the plastic container."

"Thought my brother was done with this non-alcoholic beer," Jane muttered, scowling at the bottle in her hand. "Where is he, anyway?"

"Not sure. Maybe checking out a band, or hanging out with the guys from work. We didn't have any plans, so he's on his own tonight. I wanted some time to write, and I got a lot done already." She saved and closed her folder, and closed up her computer.

"You don't have to stop on my account."

"Bull." Daria rummaged in the pantry and found a bottle of Merlot. "Can you deal with a red?" She pulled the cork and took a sniff. "Not vinegar. Excellent."

"Thanks, Daria," Jane sighed, taking the glass.

"To friendship," Daria said quietly, gently touching her glass to Jane's. "I think it's my turn to pull your head out of your ass."

* * *

"Hi, Matt? This is Daria, Jane's friend. We're at home, and I stole her phone. She's in the bathroom. We're kinda plastered, and I think you need to come over and talk some sense into her. She really likes you and she's being stup-"

"HEY!" Jane scowled. What do you think-"

Daria snatched the phone back and ran off, locking the door behind her.

"God dammit, Daria, what the hell are you doing?"

There was the sound of a key in the front door.

"Hey, Janey, what's going on?"

"Your girlfriend is getting even with me. I think she's trying to patch things up with Matt and I."

"I didn't know you guys were dating."

"We're not. I guess I kinda dumped him before we started."

The bathroom door opened, and Daria stepped out. She handed Jane her phone. "Jeez, give the guy a chance at least. If it doesn't work out, Trent and I will still be here for you. What would be so terrible about finding somebody?"

Jane said nothing for a long moment.

_Sure,_ _it's fun at first, and then when you get invested, yeah, that's when you just know it's gonna fucking hurt like a sonofabitch._

"I like things the way they are. I like the guy _you're_ sleeping with. I like you happy. I don't need things to change."

"Things _do_ change. You can get blindsided by change, or have a say in it."

"I don't need to find someone and have them walk away." _I'm not gonna get dumped again._

"Janey, when you and Daria became friends, you grew. You opened up to another person, and sometimes it wasn't easy. But can you say you would be better off had you two not met?"

"Of course not, you dope, and you know it. If Daria and I were both gay, it would have been perfect. As it is, I get to have my cake and eat it too. Friend and family both. Another person…what would happen? If I fall for somebody else, maybe I'll move out. Careers factor in, and maybe we'd have to move to another city or even another country. Why do things have to change? I like things the way they are."

"I don't get it, Janey. It's not like he's the first guy that got your attention." Trent pulled up a chair. "Oh…yeah, he is pretty cool."

"Jane, what happens after we both graduate? One thing for sure, things will change. How did we wind up here, in this situation that you like so much? Things changed after we were done with high school, and we moved out of Lawndale. Things got better, then worse, then better again. But we moved forward, and here we are."

_Easy for you to say, boyfriend steal- aw, crap, what's wrong with me?_

"Take a chance, Janey." Trent took Daria's hand. "Follow your own advice."

There was a long, quiet moment.

From off in the distance came the distinctive sound of a Ducati motorcycle's dry clutch.


	11. Chapter 11

**Roomies**

**Chapter 11**

**A Matter of Trust**

Matt awoke in a momentarily strange room to the sound of charcoal on paper.

"Don't move; I'm almost done. Go back to sleep."

He relaxed at the sound of her voice. It had lost its cool, defensive edge after a long night of talking; he smiled at her scent on the pillow.

"Stop with the smile; you didn't get that lucky and you're messing up my composition."

"I think I _am_ pretty lucky, Jane." He pushed the smile away, missing it immediately. _It felt like he had let go of a handhold, standing on a slope. At the bottom of that slope would be a cliff._ _Don't slide, idiot._ He turned his thoughts to the woman who sat a few feet away, sketching him in the early morning light. He focused on the sound of the charcoal stick she held in those long, slender fingers. He visualized the black hair, those impossibly blue eyes; those scarlet lips that she often set tightly, controlled, private. _She could understand how he felt, because in her own way she had been there herself._

The sound stopped.

He could hear the floor creak slightly as she moved from her chair, putting the sketchpad down, charcoal sticks clicking into a shallow cardboard box, the quiet squeak of a spray bottle as she wiped the carbon from her fingers with a paper towel.

He felt the mattress settle as she sat on the edge of her bed.

"Finished?" he asked, opening his eyes. She was studying his face. She reached slowly, putting a fingertip lightly on the corner of his mouth, tracing the curve of his upper lip. Lifting the finger, she shifted and lightly brushed the curve of his eyebrow, and then moved to his jawline. She tilted her head curiously as she did so.

"Not yet," she said softly.

He savored the delicate touch. He could smell her skin, the faint scent of steel a mordant to the human. She smelled of art supplies; paper, the kneadable rubber eraser she had held just moments ago, turpentine, linseed oil. It permeated her being. It seemed to rise up from her skin like shimmering heat on a desert road. Art was in her, it protected her, it shaped her spirit.

_ So scarred, this woman, and so beautiful._

"I'm not going to hurt you, Jane."

"You shouldn't promise things you have no control over," she said simply, looking into his eyes. "I can only say that I'll try not _to_ hurt or _be_ hurt."

"That's what you do."

"That's the best I can do." She leaned in and kissed him softly.

* * *

"Daria? Is Janey still with Matt?" He poured himself a cup of coffee, and joined her at the table.

"They were up all night talking. I think they just kinda passed out, I didn't hear anything that would suggest otherwise."

"She's being careful here, so it must be serious."

"You and Jane have trouble attaching, having been so independent for so long. And before you say it, yes, so do I. That's why it took so long, right?"

"Yeah. Thing I wonder about is how you and I are different, yet we can mesh. You know, you and Tom were a lot alike, and it didn't work out. I guess I'm kinda worried that Janey and Matt are like that too, you know, too much like each other?"

"Phillip and I were very different, and _that _sure didn't work out. He was just into _owning_ me. You and I share the need to be our own person, and we trust that we both value our relationship strongly. So, we _do_ have our similarities. We're compatible where it matters."

"Compatible doesn't mean alike."

"Tom never understood what being an artist meant to Jane. That was based on his simple understanding of what art was, and that doomed their relationship. With me, it was that I could never really forgive myself for having hurt my best friend, and that poisoned everything. It didn't help that there were things about myself that I _didn't _like that were mirrored in him. And I simply wasn't ready to trust that deeply."

"Matt and I have things in common, and I think we can deal with our differences." Jane pulled up a chair, setting her coffee down. "Our styles are completely different, but we can appreciate the other."

"Told you," Daria smirked.

"His dad died a year ago, and his mother disappeared when he was six." Jane added sugar to her coffee, and stirred. "So, abandonment issues and the use of Art as catharsis and spiritual balm."

"Does he have any brothers or sisters, Janey?"

"Nope. He's had to deal with things on his own, which is why I think he's more tightly wound at the core than I am. At least he's had a few more years on me to work things out."

Daria's eyes flicked to the doorway. "Hey, Matt."

"Ears are burning," he smiled. "There's no basis for scandalous rumors, right, Jane?"

She gave him a smile, got up and took a glass out of the cupboard, along with a coffee mug. She handed him the mug and pointed at the coffeepot. "I'm not a waitress, buddy." She turned and began looking in kitchen drawers.

"Bottom drawer, Jane," Daria said, taking a sip of her coffee.

"Right." She rummaged in the drawer, and handed Matt the glass with a new toothbrush and a razor in it. "Keep it on the second shelf in the bathroom cabinet. That's my stuff. Just in case you need these again; you won't get a new toothbrush every time you fall asleep on my floor."


	12. Chapter 12

_**Roomies (this is the closing chapter for this story...been fun...)**_

_**Chapter 12**_

_**Christmas**_

"These ornaments are really cool, Janey. I like the way you made the tips look like flames." Trent finished with the tinsel, and stepped back to enjoy the effect. He loved the multicolored highlights that the silvery tinsel reflected.

Daria put three small presents under the little tree, two in red and the other in gold foil paper. She looked closely at the little candle ornaments that Jane had made.

"Tell me these Christmas ornaments are not all made with your tampon applicators and glitter."

"Of course not. Only the ones with the red glitter. The ones with green glitter…"

"You're not kidding, are you? You dug them out of my trash?"

"What? With gloves and I washed them first."

"Eeewww."

"Kidding. They _are _all mine. I just thought that it was a waste to just throw them away. Did you see the centerpiece on the table yet?"

"Oh, come-"

"Actually, it's pretty cool, Janey. Did Matt make it?"

"It's not flowers made with used condom wrappers, is it?" Daria said, poking at the candle ornaments. "Okay, I admit it, these are cool."

"Good save, Amiga. No, he cast it in bronze."

Daria stopped fussing with the tree and turned to the table. "Wow, that's beautiful."

A bronze disc about eight inches across sat in the middle of the table. Four somewhat abstracted but recognizable standing figures were rendered, arms raised in a toast, facing each other around a small round table. They stood within a circle of white candles, the rich bronze patina lustrous in the warm light.

"He does have an eye for fine details. He works really differently from me; I like a broader approach, and he's like a jeweler. He _is_ a jeweler, actually," Jane smiled, holding her hand up. A silver vine was wrapped gracefully around her wrist.

"So are things going well between you two?" Trent asked carefully. "You seemed kinda pissed at him last week."

"We worked it out. I shouldn't have been backseat art directing when he was trying to concentrate. I was right, but then it really didn't matter after awhile; he's just going to have to do things the way he sees it. He's always understood that when it came to my work; he only says something if I'm about to do something dangerous or too stupid to ignore. I'm kinda catching up to him in that regard."

"Like Trent and I, we're really different, but we've figured out what works for us." Daria began to melt in her seat as Trent began rubbing her shoulders. "Oh God."

"This makes her horny," Trent smiled. "You should see what happens when I rub her feet."

"I didn't need to hear that, bro," Jane smiled. "Please, no more word pictures. That's my best friend you're arousing."

"That's enough, Trent, you're making me wet."

"Auugh!" Jane laughed. "Stop it."

"I mean around the corners of my lips."

"Auugh!"

"I meant he's making me drool."

"Auugh!"

"Never mind." Daria slapped Trent's hands away, laughing. "Stop. Later."

Trent retreated to the kitchen, and began rummaging around in the refrigerator.

"Seems like Matt's a detail oriented guy. He's kind of an expert in casting, right?" Daria leaned closer to Matt's bronze, admiring the meticulous workmanship.

"I'm more goal oriented, and he's more process centered sometimes. It's actually a good balance of interests, but I need to learn when to let him run amok. If he doesn't release, he gets kinda anal retentive. Oooh, that didn't sound right."

Daria smiled. "Like you used to tell me to get the stick out of my-"

"Yes, Amiga, like that. Admit it, you're happier, right?"

"As if you're not. You need to osculate my posterior for getting you and Matt together.

"I'm calling it even, Morgendorffer." She grinned as Trent handed them small glasses of eggnog.

"Rum makes Daria hor-"

"Auugh!"

"I'm gonna do your brother when you're not looking," Daria teased.

"Jane likes footrubs too," smiled Matt as he walked into the kitchen.

"Hi, Matt, how long have you been listening to this innuendo?" Daria blushed.

"Enough to learn that the quiet ones are the feisty ones," laughed Matt.

"_That _F word is not allowed," both the girls said in unison.

"Hey, Matt," Trent smiled. "Nice job on that centerpiece." He handed him a glass of rum-laced eggnog.

"Thanks," he smiled, glancing at Jane. "Had some help from your sister as far as the basic concept goes. Did anyone look underneath the table in the center?"

Daria knelt down, looking where Matt had indicated. "Oh God," she smiled.

Jane and Trent looked as well, and everyone burst out laughing. Matt had rendered a small, angel-winged squirrel paying off a cherub armed with a bow and a quiver of arrows. Both small figures had been cast separately and the very tips of opposite wings delicately welded to the underside of the table, creating a hovering effect.

"I told him about that, but I didn't know it got included in the piece," smiled Jane. "So that's why you call this _Point of Origin._

"A lot of events were set in motion when I ran over that poor squirrel," Daria said quietly. "And it continues to radiate outwards. I guess it didn't die in vain, and yes, it does deserve a toast." She raised her glass, and the others followed suit.

* * *

Matt ran his fingers along the edge of the little book that Daria had written and made for him. He flipped the book open again, smiling at the title page: _The Care and Feeding of a Remarkably Independent Young Artist, by Daria Morgendorffer; first edition of one_. The first illustration was of a younger Jane and Daria stuffing their faces at Pizza King.

She had written and made books for Trent and Jane as well, although these were more introspective and personal. "Please read them later," Daria had asked, "And consider them private."

Jane had given Daria an oil of Trent teaching Daria how to play her guitar, sheets of music and lyrics scattered around her. For her brother, a portrait of Daria with her guitar.

A broad smile and a blush appeared on her face as she unwrapped the green box. "Um, thanks, Jane. Is this what I think it is? And it's kinda…immodest, don't you think?"

"Well, it was a relatively _small_ animal, and… well, you do have rather feminine attributes. Besides, you're only gonna put it on for a certain guy, right?"

"Or I could moonlight as a stripper," Daria smirked. "No, wait, I would need more to take off."

"Well, _I_ like it," murmured Trent.

"Really? I'm just _shocked._" Daria leaned in close and whispered in Trent's ear. He immediately flushed bright red.

"Uh oh," Jane giggled. "I guess it's Trent's present too."

"Goes with this present, I suppose," Daria smiled, pulling up the hem of her blouse. A polished titanium ring glinted just above her navel.

"Hot," smiled Trent, pulling her close.

"Matt, you really do beautiful work," Daria said, admiring the silver bracelet from Matt and Jane, and the white gold ring from Trent. "My sister loved the earrings I sent her."

"I sense a distinct lack of originality," laughed Jane, holding up her hand. "Daria and I match."

"We share a lot of things in common," Daria smirked, "Except boyfriends."

"Yeah," smiled Trent, "Glad you two figured that out."

* * *

"Hey," Jane called out softly from a seat at the dining table.

"Jeez, Lane," gasped Daria, "What are you doing sitting out here in the dark? It's two in the morning."

"Probably the same thing you're doing. Can't sleep either? I know Trent never has that problem."

"Just thinking." She picked up the kettle and filled it from the pitcher of filtered water on the kitchen counter. With the lights from the little Christmas tree and the moonlight streaming through the window there was plenty of light to see what she was doing; she put it on to boil. "Chamomile okay with you?"

"Thanks. I was trying to work up the energy to get off my butt and make tea." She got up and opened the cupboard, taking down the teapot. "You know, back in Lawndale, the teapot would have been in the sink with week old crap in it. You're a good influence on my brother."

Daria smiled. Even in the dark, Jane could see, and she smiled too.

"I like living with him. Our relationship not withstanding, I'm glad he moved in with us."

"You were right, Daria; things change, and we all need to be willing to engage it. I'm cautiously optimistic about Matt and I; it's getting kinda serious."

"He's a pretty great guy. Good footrubs?"

"Oh yeah," smiled Jane. "Were we too noisy?"

"Probably no more than Trent and I."

"This place is too small," they both said in unison, breaking into laughter.

The water came to a boil, and they made tea. They carried their cups back to the dining table, and sat down together in the dark. Neither spoke for awhile, both enjoying each other's company and the warmth of the tea.

Daria looked at Jane's profile in the moonlight. She had gotten used to the woman in her life, and both of them had long adapted to each other's idiosyncrasies.

Each of them had grown to consider the other as family; it was hard to believe that they had known each other for only six years.

"I love you too, Morgendorffer," laughed Jane.

"I'm not gonna hug you," Daria smiled softly, "Because that's just something I don't do. But if I did that sort of thing, I'd hug you now."

"Good enough for me, Amiga."

The two friends settled back, enjoying the quiet time together, and thought about the future together.

_**-Fin**_


End file.
